Friday the 13th is unlucky

Scene: A café in Manchester, drizzly Friday morning, the 13th.

---

Amy: (sitting down nervously) I nearly didn’t come out today, James. You know what day it is.

James: Friday. The 13th. (mock gasp) Did your toast fall butter-side down this morning?

Amy: Don’t joke! It’s serious. My cousin once broke her ankle on a Friday the 13th, and my mum swears her car broke down the same day years ago. You can’t tell me that’s coincidence.

James: Amy, people break ankles and cars break down all the time. If it happened on the 12th or the 14th, you wouldn’t remember. But slap a “13” on it and suddenly it’s “mystical bad luck.”

Amy: Easy for you to say. I woke up, stubbed my toe, spilled coffee on my jumper, and missed the bus. Triple disaster before 9am—explain that.

James: Alright, Sherlock. Stubbed toe? Because you left your shoes in the middle of the room. Coffee spill? Because you were scrolling Instagram while pouring. Missed the bus? Because you were cleaning said coffee off your jumper. That’s not Friday the 13th—it’s poor time management.

Amy: (laughs reluctantly) You always have an answer. But even hotels skip the 13th floor! If it’s all nonsense, why do businesses avoid it?

James: Because people believe it’s unlucky, not because it actually is. It’s psychology. Imagine if they kept the 13th floor—half the guests would spend the night worrying instead of sleeping. Bad reviews galore. It’s just easier to call it “14.”

Amy: So you’re saying we make our own bad luck?

James: Exactly. It’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you expect the day to go wrong, you notice every tiny mishap and blame the date. But if good things happen, you shrug them off.

Amy: Hmm. I suppose I never remember the times Friday the 13th went fine… like last year when I actually got that promotion.

James: (grins) See? That was Friday the 13th too. Should’ve bought a lottery ticket.

Amy: (smiling) Alright, Mr. Rational. I’ll try to think of today as just another day. But if I get struck by lightning walking home, I’m haunting you.

James: Deal. But if you make it home fine, you’re buying me a pint tonight—to celebrate the “luckiest” Friday of the year.

Amy: (laughs) Fine. Just don’t make me walk under any ladders on the way.